CIHM 
Microfiche 
Series 
(l\/lonographs) 


ICI\/IH 

Collection  de 
microfiches 
(monographles) 


m 


Canadian  Initituta  for  Kijtorical  Microraproductiont  /  Instit'jt  Canadian  da  microraproductions  historiquaa 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes  /  Notes  technique  et  bibliographlques 


The  Institute  has  attempted  to  obtain  the  best  ongmal 
copy  available  for  filming.  Features  of  this  copy  which 
may  be  bibliographically  unique,  which  may  alter  any  of 
the  images  in  the  reproduction,  or  which  may 
significantly  change  the  usual  method  of  filming  are 
checked  below. 


D 
D 
D 

D 

D 
D 

D 

D 

D 

D 

D 


D 


Coloured  covers  / 
Couverture  de  couleur 

Covers  damaged  / 
Couverture  endommagee 

Covers  restored  and/or  laminated  / 
Couverture  restauree  et/ou  pelliculee 

Cover  title  missing  /  Le  litre  de  couverture  manque 

Coloured  maps  /  Cartes  geographiques  en  couleur 

Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)  / 
Encre  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 

Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations  / 
Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 

Bound  with  other  material  / 
Relie  avec  d'autres  documents 

Onty  edition  available  / 
Seule  edition  disponible 

Tight  binding  may  cause  shadows  or  distortion 
along  interior  margin  /  La  reliure  serree  peut 
causer  de  I'ombre  ou  de  la  distorsion  le  long  de 
la  marge  interieure. 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restorations  may  appear 
within  the  text.  Whenever  possible,  these  have 
been  omitted  from  filming  /  II  se  peut  que  certaines 
pages  blanches  ajoutees  lors  d'une  restauration 
apparaissent  dans  le  texte,  mais,  lorsque  ceta  itait 
possible,  ces  pages  n'(»it  pas  ete  filmees. 


Additional  comments  / 
Commentaires  si^spl^nientaires: 


L'Institut  a  microfilme  le  meilieur  examplaire  qu'il  lui  a 
ete  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  details  de  cet  exem- 
plaJre  qui  sent  peut-etre  uniques  du  point  de  vue  bibli- 
ographique,  qui  peuvent  modifier  une  image  reproduite, 
ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une  modifications  dans  la  meth- 
ode  normale  de  filmage  sont  indiqu^s  ci-dessous. 

I      Coloured  pages  /  Pages  de  couleur 

I      I      Pages  damaged  /  Pages  endommagees 


D 


D 


Pages  restored  andi/or  laminated  / 
Pages  restaur^es  et/ou  pellicul6es 


r^l  Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed  / 

' — '  Pages  decolorees.  tachetees  ou  piquees 

I      I  Pages  detached  /  Pages  detachdes 

r~^  Showthrough  /  Transparence 

[~n  Quality  of  print  varies  / 

' — '  Qualrle  inegale  de  I'impression 


Includes  supplementary  material  / 
Comprend  du  materiel  supplementaire 

Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata 
slips,  tissues,  etc..  have  been  refilmed  to 
ensure  the  best  possible  image  /  Les  pages 
totalement  ou  partiellement  obscurcies  par  un 
feuillet  d'errata,  une  pelure,  etc.,  ont  ete  filmees 
a  nouveau  de  fa9on  a  obtenir  la  meilleure 
image  possible. 

Opposing  pages  with  varying  colouration  or 
discolou rations  are  filmed  twice  to  ensure  the 
best  possible  image  /  Les  pages  s'opposant 
ayant  des  colorations  variables  ou  des  decol- 
orations sont  filmees  deux  fois  afin  d'obtentr  la 
meilieur  image  possible. 


This  ittm  is  filmed  at  the  riduciion  ratio  chtcktd  btlow/ 

Ce  dfxumtnt  tst  filme  au  taux  de  reduction  indiquc  ci-flessous. 


lox 

14X 

18X 

Z2X 

26  X 

XX 

J 

12X 

16X 

20X 

24X 

28  X 

32  X 

The  copy  filmad  h«r*  hn  bMn  raproductd  thanks 
to  th*  ganarotity  of: 

StAuffer  Library 
Queen*s  University 

Tha  imagas  appaaring  hara  ara  tha  bait  quality 
potsibla  eontidaring  tha  condition  and  lagibility 
of  tha  original  copy  and  In  kaaping  with  tha 
filming  contract  tpaclficatiana. 


Original  eoplaa  In  printad  papar  covars  ara  fllmad 
baglnning  with  tha  front  coyar  and  anding  on 
tha  last  piga  with  a  printad  or  iiluatratad  improa- 
sion.  or  tha  back  covar  whan  appropriata.  All 
othar  anginal  coplas  ara  fllmad  baglnning  on  tha 
first  paga  with  a  printad  or  iiluatratad  Impraa- 
slon,  and  anding  on  tha  laat  paga  with  a  printad 
or  iiluatratad  Imprasalon. 


Tha  last  racordad  frama  on  aach  microficha 
shall  contain  tha  symbol  —^  Imaaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  tha  symbol  V  Imaaning  "END"), 
whichavar  applias. 

Maps,  pistas.  charts,  ate.  may  ba  fllmad  at 
diffarant  raduction  ratios.  Thosa  too  iarga  to  ba 
antiraly  Inciudad  in  ona  axposura  ara  fllmad 
baglnning  in  tha  uppar  laft  hand  cornar,  laft  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  framas  as 
raqulrad.  Tha  following  diagrams  iilustrata  tha 
mathod: 


L'axampiaira  film*  fut  raproduit  grlca  i  la 
gtntrositt  da: 

Stauffar  Library 
OiM«fi*s  Unlvarslty 

Las  Imagas  suivantas  ont  M  raproduitas  avac  la 
plus  grand  soln,  compta  tanu  da  la  condition  at 
da  la  nattat*  da  I'axamplaira  filmt.  at  »n 
conformity  avac  laa  conditions  du  eontrat  da 
filmaga. 

Laa  axamplalraa  orlglnaux  dont  la  eouvortura  an 
paplar  aat  ImprimAa  sont  fllm^s  an  commsncant 
par  la  pramiar  plat  at  an  tarmlnant  soit  par  la 
darnlAra  paga  qui  comporta  una  amprainta 
d'imprassion  ou  d'illustration,  solt  par  la  saeond 
plat,  salon  la  cas.  Tous  las  autras  axamplairas 
origlnaus  sont  fllmas  an  commancant  par  la 
pramiara  paga  qui  comporta  una  amprainta 
d'imprassion  ou  d'llluatratlon  at  an  tarmlnant  par 
la  darnlAra  paga  qui  comporta  una  talla 
amprainta. 

Un  daa  symbolas  sulvants  tpparaitra  sur  la 
darniara  Imaga  da  chaqua  microficha.  salon  la 
cas:  la  symbols  — »  signlfia  "A  SUIVRE".  la 
symbols  V  signlfia  "FIN". 

Las  cartas,  planchas.  tablaaux.  ate,  psuvant  itra 
filmAs  t  das  taux  da  reduction  difftrants. 
Lorsqua  la  documant  ast  trop  grand  pour  itra 
raproduit  an  un  saul  cllch*.  11  ast  film*  i  partir 
da  I'angia  aupAriaur  gaucha.  da  gaucha  S  droits. 
at  da  haut  an  bas,  an  pranant  la  nombra 
d'Imagaa  nteaasalra.  Las  disgrammas  suivsnts 
illustrant  la  mathoda. 


1 

2 

3 

1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

WCROCOPV   HSOIUTION   TBT  CHA«T 

lANSI  and  ISC  TEST  CHART  No   2| 


|I.O 

Irl^  l£ 

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t  lis    ■" 

£    Li     §20 

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m  III 

^     11^ 

_J     APPLIED  IIWOE 

^fI         '6^3   Eail    UQin   SIrHI 


PAINTERS  HODDAY 
and  Otl^r  Poems 


BY 
BLISS  CARMAN 


New  York 
PRIVATEi.V  PRINTED 


Copyright  iqii  by 
Frederic  Fairchild  Sherman 


To  Mr.  and  Mrs.  E  A  Drake 
15.  >6  April,  iqii 


CONTENTS 

A  Pa  uter's  Houday 

7 

On  The  Plaza 

tl 

Mirage 

■4 

A  Christmas  Stranger 

xx 

The  Miracle 

31 

A  PAINTERS  HOLIDAY 

ZE  painters  sometime 

J  strangely  keep 

iThese  holidays.  When  life 

arjns  deep 

a  And  broad  and  strong 
it  comes  to  make 
Itf  own  bright-colored  almanack. 
Impulse  and  incident  divine 
ust  find  their  way  through  tone  and  line; 
.le  throb  of  color  arid  the  dream 
Of  beauty,  giving  art  its  theme 
From  dear  life's  daily  miracle, 
Illume  the  anist"     2  as  well. 

A  bird-note,  or  a  turning  leaf, 
The  first  white  fall  of  snow,  a  brief 
Wild  song  from  the  Andiology, 
A  smile,  or  a  girls  kindling  eye, — 
And  there  is  worth  enough  for  him 
To  make  the  page  of  history  dim. 


[7 


Who  knows  upon  what  day  may  come 
The  touch  of  that  delirium 
Which  lifts  plain  life  to  the  divine. 
And  teaches  hand  the  magic  line 
No  cunning  mie  could  ever  reach, 
Where  Souls  necessities  find  speech? 
None  knows  how  rapture  may  arrive 
To  be  our  helper  and  survive 
Through  our  essay,  to  help  in  turn 
All  starving  eager  souls  who  yearn 
Lightward  discouraged  and  distraught 
Ah,  once  art's  gleam  of  glory  caught 
And  treasured  in  the  heart,  how  dien 
We  walk  enchanted  among  men. 
And  with  the  elder  gods  confer! 
So  art  is  hopes  interpreter. 
And  with  devotion  must  conspire 
To  fan  the  eternal  altar  fire. 


Wherefore  you  find  me  here  to-day, 
Not  idling  the  good  hours  away. 
But  pifluring  a  magic  hour 
With  its  replenishment  of  power. 

Conceive  a  bleak  December  day. 
The  .^eets  all  mire,  the  sky  all  grey, 

8] 


And  a  poor  pinter  trudging  home 
Disconsolate,  when  what  should  come 
Across  his  vision,  but  a  line 
On  a  bold-lettered  play-house  sign, 
A  Persian  Sun  Dance. 


In  he  turns. 
A  step,  and  diere  the  desert  bums 
f'urple  and  splendid;  molten  gold 
The  streamers  of  the  dawn  unfold. 
Amber  and  amethyst  uphurled 
Above  the  far  rim  of  the  world; 
The  long-held  sound  of  temple  bells 
Over  the  hot  sand  steals  and  swells; 
A  lazy  tom-tom  throbs  and  drones 
In  barbarous  maddening  monotones; 
While  sandal  incense  blue  and  ktcn 
Hangs  in  the  air.  And  then  the  scene 
Wakes,  and  out  steps,  by  rhythm  released. 
The  sorcery  of  all  die  East, 

In  rose  and  safiron  gossamer, 

A  young  light-hearted  worshipper 
Who  dances  up  the  Sua  She  moves 
Like  waking  woodland  flower  that  loves 
To  greet  the  day.  Her  lithe  brown  curve 
Is  like  a  saplings  sway  and  swerve 

[9 


Before  the  spring  wind  Her  dark  hair. 
Framing  a  face  vivid  and  rare, 
Curled  to  her  throat  and  then  flew  wild. 
Like  shadows  round  a  radiant  child. 
The  sunlight  fi'om  her  cymbals  played 
About  her  dancing  knees,  and  made 
A  world  of  rose-lit  ecstasy. 
Prophetic  of  the  day  to  be. 

Such  mystic  beauty  might  have  shown 
In  Sardis  or  in  Babylon, 
To  bring  a  satrap  to  his  doom 
Or  touch  some  lad  with  glory's  bloom 
And  now  it  wrought  for  me,  with  sheer 
Enchantment  of  the  dying  year. 
Its  irresistible  reprieve 
From  joylessness,  on  New  Years  Eve. 


.0] 


ON  THE  PLAZA 


SINE  August  day  I  sat  beside 
I A  cafe  \vindow,  open  wide 
J  To  let  die  shower-freshened  air 
_X  Blow  in  aaoss  the  Plaza,  where 
In  golden  pomp  against  the  dark 
Green  leafy  background  of  the  Park, 
Saint  Gaudens"  hero  gaunt  and  grim. 
Rides  on  with  Virtory  leading  him. 

The  wet  black  asphalt  seemed  to  hold 
In  every  hollow  pools  of  gold. 
And  clouds  of  gold  and  pink  and  grey 
Were  piled  up  at  the  end  of  day 
Far  down  the  cross  street,  where  one  tower 
Still  glistened  from  die  drenching  shower. 

A  weary  white-haired  man  went  by. 
Cooling  his  forehead  gratefully 
After  the  days  great  heat  A  girl. 
Her  thin  white  garments  in  a  swirl 
Blown  back  against  her  breasts  and  knees, 
Like  a  Winged  Victory  in  the  breeze, 


Alive  and  modem  and  supeib, 
Crossed  from  the  circle  to  die  curb. 

We  sat  there  watching  people  pass, 
Clinking  the  ice  against  the  glass 
And  talking  idly — books  or  art, 
Or  something  equally  apart 
From  the  essential  stress  and  smfe 
That  mdely  form  and  furdier  life. 
Clad  of  a  respite  from  the  heat. 
When  down  the  middle  of  the  street 
Tmndling  a  hurdy-gurdy,  gay 
In  spite  of  the  dull  stifling  day. 
Three  street  musicians  came.  The  man. 
With  hair  and  beard  as  black  as  Pan, 
Strolled  on  one  side  with  lordly  grace. 
While  a  young  girl  tugged  at  a  trace 
Upon  the  other.  And  between 
The  shafb  there  walked  a  laughing  queen. 
Bright  as  a  poppy,  strong  and  free. 
What  likelier  land  than  Italy 
Breeds  such  abandon?  Confident 
And  rapnirous  in  mere  living  spent 
Each  moment  to  the  utmost,  there 
With  broad  deep  chest  and  kerchiefed  hair 


l^] 


With  head  thrown  back,  bare  throat,and  waist 
Supple,  heroic,  and  free-laced. 
Between  her  two  companions  walked 
This  splendid  woman,  chaffed  and  talked. 
Did  half  the  work,  made  all  the  cheer 
Of  that  small  company. 

No  fear 
Of  failure  in  a  soul  like  hers. 
That  every  moment  throbs  and  stirs 
With  merry  ardor,  virile  hope, 
Brave  effort,  nor  in  all  its  scope 
Has  room  for  thought  of  discontent. 
Each  day  its  own  sufficient  vent 
And  source  of  happiness. 

Without 
A  trace  of  bitterness  or  doubt 
Of  life's  true  worth,  she  strode  at  ease 
Before  diose  empty  palaces, 
A  simple  heiress  of  the  earth 
And  all  its  joys  by  happy  birth. 
Beneficent  as  breeze  or  dew, 
And  fresh  as  diough  die  'vorld  were  new 
And  toil  and  grief  were  not  How  rare 
A  personality  was  there! 

['3 


MIRAGE 


BERE  hangs  at  last,  you  see, 

I  my  row 

I  Of  sketches, — all  I  have  to  show 

lOfoneetKhanted  summer  spent 
In  sweet  laborious  content. 
At  little  "Sconset  by  the  moors, 
With  the  sea  thundering  by  its  doors. 
Its  grassy  streets,  and  gardens  gay 
With  hollyhocks  and  salvia. 


And  here  upon  the  easel  yet. 
With  the  last  brush  of  paint  still  wet, 
(Showing  how  inspiiation  toils,) 
Is  one  where  the  white  surf-line  boils 
Along  the  sand  and  the  whole  sea 
Lifts  to  the  skyLne  just  to  be 
The  wondrous  background  from  whose  verge 
Of  blue  on  blue  there  should  emerge 
This  miracle. 

One  day  of  days 
I  strolled  the  silent  path  that  strays 

«4] 


Between  the  moorlands  and  the  beach 
From  Siasconset,  till  you  reach 
Tom  Nevers  Head,  the  lone  last  land 
That  fronts  the  ocean,  lone  and  grand 
As  when  the  Lord  first  bade  it  be 
For  a  surprise  and  mystery. 
A  sailless  sea,  a  cloudless  sky, 
The  level  lonely  mcxirs,  and  I 
The  only  soul  in  all  that  vast 
Of  color  made  intense  to  last! 
The  small  white  sea-birds  piping  near; 
The  great  soft  moor-winds;  and  the  clear 
Bright  sun  that  pales  cich  aest  to  jade. 
Where  gulls  glint  fishing  unafraid. 
Here  man  the  godlike  might  have  gone 
With  his  deep  thought,  on  that  wild  dawn 
When  the  first  sun  came  from  the  sea. 
Glowing  and  kindling  the  world  to  be. 
While  time  began  and  joy  had  birdi, — 
No  wilder  sweeter  spot  on  earth! 

As  1  sat  there  and  mused,  (the  ■,    y 
We  painters  waste  our  time,  you  s«y!; 
On  the  sheer  loneliness  and  strength 
Whence  life  must  spring,  there  came  at  length 
Conviction  of  the  helplessness 

[>5 


Ofeanh  alone  to  ban  or  bless, 
saw  the  huge  unhuman  sea; 
•heard  the  drear  monotony 

W.th  heedless  fotJe  strife  and  roar. 
W.thoutamean,ngorana.m. 
And  then  a  revelation  came, 

In  subtle  sudden  lovely  guise, 
U«  one  of  those  soft  mysteries 
Ut  Indian  jugglers,  who  evoke 
A  flower  for  you  out  of  smoke, 
'knew  sheer  beauty  Without  soul 
Could  never  be  perfeaions  goal. 
Nor  satisfy  the  seeking  mind 
W.ch  all  it  longs  for  and  must  find 
Oje^y.  The  lovely  things  that  haunt 
Our  senses  wth  an  achmg  want. 
And  move  our  souls,  are  like  the  fair 

L^tgam^nts  of  a  soul  somewhere. 
^fature.s  naught,  ifnot  the  veil 
Of««,e  great  good  that  must  prevail 
And  break  ,„  joy.  as  woods /spring 
Break  mto  song  and  blossoming. 

But  what  makes  that  ^reat  goodness  start 
Withm  outlives?  Wnen  4  the^'^" 

.6] 


With  gladness,  only  then  we  know 

Why  lovely  Nature  travails  so, 

Why  an  must  persevere  and  pray 

In  her  incomparable  way. 

In  all  the  world  the  only  worth 

k  human  happiness:  its  dearth 

The  darkest  ill.  Let  joyance  be. 

And  there  is  God  s  sufficiency,— 

Such  joy  as  only  can  abound 

When  the  hearts  comrade  has  been  found. 

That  was  my  thought  And  then  the  sea 
Broke  in  upon  my  revery 
With  clamorous  beauty, — '}\e  superb 
Eternal  noun  diat  takes  no  verb 
But  love.  The  heaven  of  dove-like  blue 
Bent  oer  the  azure,  round  and  true 
As  magic  sphere  of  crystal  glass. 
Where  faith  sees  plain  the  pageant  pass 
Of  things  unseen.  So !  beheld 
The  sheer  sky-arches  domed  and  belled. 
As  if  the  sea  were  the  very  floor 
Of  heaven  where  walked  the  gods  of  yore 
In  Plato's  imagery,  and  I 
Uplifted  saw  their  pomps  go  by. 


['7 


TTie  Housf  of  space  and  time  grew  tense 
As  if  with  raptures  imminence, 
When  truth  should  be  at  last  made  clea.-. 
And  the  great  worth  of  life  appear; 
While  I,  a  worshipper  at  the  shnne. 
For  very  longing  grew  divine, 
Borne  upward  on  earth  s  ecstasy. 
And  welcomed  by  the  boundless  sky 
A  mighty  prescience  seemed  to  brood 
Over  that  tenuous  solitude 
Yearning  for  fomi,  till  it  became. 
Vivid  as  dream  and  live  as  flame. 
Through  magic  art  could  never  niatch. 
The  vision  I  have  tried  ;o  catcK— 
All  earths  delight  and  meaning  giown 
A  lync  presence  loved  and  knowa 

How  otherwise  could  time  evolve 
Young  courage,  or  the  high  resolve. 
Or  gladness  to  assuage  and  bless 
The  souls  austere  great  loneliness, 
Than  by  providing  her  somehow 
With  sympathy  of  hand  and  brow. 
And  bidding  her  at  last  go  free. 
Companioned  dirough  eternity? 


18] 


So  there  appeared  before  my  eyes, 
In  a  beloved  fai.iiliar  guise, 
A  vivid  questing  human  face 
In  profile,  scanning  heaven  for  grace. 
Up-gazing  there  against  the  blue 
With  eyes  that  heaven  itself  shone  through; 
The  tips  soft-parted,  half  m  prayer, 
Half  confident  of  kindness  there; 
A  brow  like  Plato's  made  for  dream 
In  some  immortal  Acadeine, 
And  tender  as  a  happy  girl's; 
A  full  dark  head  of  clustered  cjris 
Round  as  an  emperor's,  where  meet 
Repose  and  ardor,  strong  and  sweet. 
Distilling  from  a  mind  unmarred 
The  glory  of  her  rapt  regard. 

So  ei^er  Mary  tnight  have  stood. 
In  love's  adoring  attitude. 
And  looked  into  the  angel's  eyes 
With  faith  and  fearlessness,  all  wise 
In  soul's  unfaltering  innocence. 
Sure  in  her  woman's  supersense 
Of  things  only  the  humble  know. 
My  vision  looks  forever  so. 


['9 


In«he,v«,„^henmtn5hall„v 
^'wasthepun«r-,m«n.ng.p«v> 
WhvalU„v«tof«a.ndspai'^ 
JuK  to  enframe  a  womans  faceT   ' 
Mere  IS  the  peninrnt  reply, 
"What  better  u*  for  earth  and  sky?" 

The  great  archangel  passed  that  wav 
lluminghfewithmysnc^  ^ 

Not  Lippos  self  nor  Raphael 
iHbd  lovelier  realer  things  to  tell 
Than  I,  beholding  far  away 

How  all  the  melt,ng«»e  and  gray 
Upon  the  puT,lesea-l,ne  leaned 
About  that  head  that  intervened. 

How  real  was  she?  Ah,  my  fv-^  ■ 
hart  the  fact  and  fancy  blend  ' 

Past  telling.  All  the  painters  task 
Isw,ththeglory.Needweask 

:"» tulips  breaking  thtough  the  mould 
lo  their  untarnished  age  of  gold, 
Whence  their  ideals  were  derived 
1  hat  have  so  gloriously  survived? 
Rowers  and  painters  both  must  give 
rhe  hint  they  have  received,  to  Irve,- 

^o] 


Spend  without  stint  the  joy  and  power 
That  lurk  in  each  propitious  hour, — 
Yet  leave  the  why  untold — Gxl's  way. 

My  sketch  is  all  I  have  to  say. 


[^« 


THE  CHRISTMAS  STOANGER 

SOU  wonder  how  I  ever  drew 

aThat"Gal,leanWorkman---who 

SI  he  model  could  have  been 
-Ji  to  give 

My  work  the  charm  that  makes  it  live 
T^t  gracious  yet  comj^ihng  mien      ' 
^ftil  of  power  and  poise,  that  keen 
ret  calm  unfathomable  gaze 

Of  one  who  looks  upon  the  maze 
Ut  human  folly  and  sail  sees 

More  than  our  mere  infirmuies, 
With  lips  that  almost  smile. 

i^.      ,  ,  Myfi-iend, 

painted  that  at  one  years  end. 
^ng  ago  now.  The  swirling  snow 
Down  from  the  sky,  up  from  below 
Smothered  my  window  with  strange  light 
That  morning  in  a  world  all  white 

Into  the  studio  all  warm. 


All  welcome  with  its  atmosphere 
Of  patient  beauty,  work  and  cheer. 
Built  up  the  fire;  and  turned  once  more 
To  seek  the  one  thing  striven  for 
So  mightily  by  all  our  tribe, 
The  magic  no  one  can  describe. 
The  final  touch  and  miracle 
Of  beauty  saying,  "All  is  well." 
I  had  a  sense  of  quiet  peace. 
Seclusion,  respite  and  release. 
At  being  snow-bound  for  a  day. 
With  interruptions  shut  away. 

Hardly  had  1  begun  to  paint. 
In  that  fiill  mood  of  unrestraint 
So  typical  of  Christmas  Eve, 
When  some  one  silendy  took  leave 
To  turn  die  latch  and  enter. 

There, 
With  his  serene  diough  wistful  air. 
As  if  too  modest  to  assume 
My  need  of  him  (although  the  room 
Was  radiant  widi  his  manliness 
And  quienide  of  proud  address). 


[ij 


Fronting  the  world  in  all  mens  sight 
rtom  his  uncompromising  height 
And  bearing  of  sweet  dignity. 
He  stood  at  pause  regarding  to— 
A  foreign  model,  as  I  thought. 
Seeking  employment,  all  I  caught 
The  brows  repose  the  eyes  command, 
I  he  mouths  compassion  Then  the  hand 
Was  laid  upon  the  bowing  breast, 
The  Orients  way,  the  head  depressed 
Fo  honor  me;  while  all  my  heart 
Went  out  to  him,  alone,  apart. 
And  far  above  the  mortal  men 

My  sight  had  looked  upon  till  thea 

Speechless  I  was  before  him  diere. 
And  dien  the  glorious  head,  the  hair 
A  mass  of  wavy  coppery  gold. 
Was  lifted  up.  My  hand  took  hold 
Of  the  chair-back  instinrtiVely, 
As  the  clear  eyes  were  turned  on  me. 

Then  with  a  didion  pure  and  fine 
And  statelier  than  yours  or  mine. 
And  in  a  rhydimical  clear  voice  ' 
I  heard  him  saying:  "Friend,  rejoice! 


The  time  is  drawing  near — the  hour 
When  love,  intelligence  and  power 
Shall  be  made  one,  as  once  they  were 
In  the  beginning,  when  the  stir 
Of  will  took  thought,  and  for  the  sake 
Of  beauty  bade  the  world  awake. 

"Is  the  time  long,  and  do  die  years 
Outwear  thy  patience?  Are  there  tears 
Beneath  the  proud  triumphant  strain 
Of  art,  die  struggle  to  attain? 
Does  doubt  at  moments  blur  away 
The  light  within  the  lamp  of  clay? 

"O  workman,  conscious  of  the  hint 
Of  glory  in  the  line  and  tint. 
And  searching  for  the  truth,  take  heart; 
The  haunting  secret  of  thy  art 
Shall  be  made  :  ar,  and  thou  shalt  know 
How  earth  was  fashioned  long  ago — 
How  all  the  wheeling  stars  were  made 
And  their  appointed  orbits  laid. 
How  space  was  bridged  and  time  *as  spanned. 
And  power  was  harnessed  to  command. 
Till  form  emerged  from  measured  space. 
And  rhythm  was  bom  of  time — the  trace 

[-5 


Of  mind  upon  eternity — 
And  power  (a  tide  within  a  sea) 
Became  within  its  ordered  grooves 
Not  only  that  which  lives  and  moves, 
But  that  which  cares  and  understands. 

"Behold  the  work  of  diine  own  hands- 
Is  it  not  so  dierein?  First  springs 
From  vague  unmarked  imaginings 
The  sweet  desire;  then  sudden  thought 
In  some  strange  secret  fire  is  caught 
And  kindled;  and  there  stands  ncw-bom 
Thy  fresh  ideal,  dear  as  mom 
And  tender  as  the  evening.  Then 
Remains  die  godlike  task  of  men. 
To  realize  that  fair  design 
In  sound,  in  color  or  in  line. 
Till  what  was  dreamed  of  good  and  true 
Takes  on  the  guise  of  beauty  too, 
As  faith  compels  and  means  afford 
This  is  thy  passion  and  reward. 

"So  is  die  world  renewed  at  length 
In  wisdom,  holiness  and  strengdi; 
The  vision  of  the  perfect  good 
Imposed  upon  the  void  and  crude; 

^6] 


And  the  benign  creative  will 
Slowly  ascendant  over  ill. 
Accomplishing  the  sweep  and  plan 
Of  the  development  of  man. 

"No  hue  upon  thy  palettes  nm 
But  leads  the  minds  eye  up  to  Him, 
The  godlike  One  who  is  to  be 
The  Crown  and  Lord  of  destiny. 
No  line  upon  the  canvas  laid 
But  shall  declare  how,  unafi^d. 
Adventuring  the  bold  and  new. 
Thy  spirit  dared  bid  hope  come  true. 
Aspiring  to  supreme  success — 
The  saving  power  of  loveliness. 

"Would  He  who  made  the  water  wine 
Deny  employment  such  as  thine 
Its  word  of  praise,  and  not  commend 
Thy  arts  endeavor  to  transcend 
The  here  and  now  with  something  more 
Than  ever  was  accounted  for 
By  rule  and  learning?  Take  thou  heed. 
And  in  the  hour  of  thy  soul's  need. 
Despair  not!  Only  set  more  high 
Above  the  days  idolatry 

[^7 


Thy  shining  mark,  then  wait  unmoved 

Until  events  thy  faith  have  proved; 

And  the  round  world  shall  bless  thy  name, 

Seeii)g  at  last  thy  only  aim 

Was  but  to  feed  its  multitude 

With  truth,  with  beauty  and  with  good, 

The  water  and  bread  and  wine  of  life. 

"Is  not  thy  longing  and  thy  strife 
To  mold  the  plastic  medium 
To  form  and  rhythm,  endow  the  dumb 
Material  with  speech,  awake 
The  spirit  in  the  clay,  and  make 
The  soul  within  the  color  sing 
For  rapture  like  the  birds  of  spring? 
Does  not  the  music-master  fill 
The  silence  with  desire  and  will. 
And  give  to  vague  and  wandering  sound 
Order,  significance  and  bound? 
And  what  is  that  but  to  give  soul 
To  substance,  reason  and  control 
To  formless  chaos,  taking  part 
In  the  illimitable  art 
Whose  Spirit  moved  upon  the  face 
Of  the  great  waters  under  space. 


^8] 


And  shed  the  darkness  from  the  light, 
And  far  from  near,  and  depth  from  height. 
And  false  from  true,  and  good  from  ill. 
With  limits  set  for  them  to  fill? 

'Let  glory  go,  care  not  for  gain! 
Thy  great  reward  shall  still  remain— 
The  good  for  which  thy  toiling  days 
Were  given  without  heed  of  praise. 
Thy  intimate  and  splendid  thought 
Made  actual  in  beauty  fraught 
With  joy,  with  passion,  and  with  power. 
Not  in  some  far  predicted  hour. 
But  even  now  thy  heart  shall  know 
The  wells  of  gladness  To  bestow 
On  beauty  all  the  benefit 
Of  being,  all  thy  skill  and  wit. 
Thy  purpose  and  thy  endless  pains. 
Is  thy  great  task.  One  thing  remains — 
Thou  knowest — one  and  only  one. 
Without  which  all  were  left  undone: 
Love.  Hast  thou  freely  given  with  all 
Thy  life's  endeavor  beyond  recall 
Thy  love  each  day?  For  love  must  be 
Poured  out  and  spent  ungrudgingly. 


[^9 


To  give  thy  work  a  soul — the  fire 
Of  understanding  and  desire 
And  loveliness — to  help  the  end 
And  purpose  of  creation's  trend. 
Else  were  all  effort  vain,  and  thou 
Wert  judged  and  sentenced  even  now 
By  thine  own  heart's  tribunal. 


-Yea, 
The  difficult  and  arKient  way 
To  beauty  lies  through  urge  and  stress 
Where  knowledge  walks  with  love.  Unless 
Great  Love  arise  and  take  thy  hand 
In  that  unknown  and  doubtful  land. 
Not  all  thy  cunning  can  avail 
To  read  the  signs  and  keep  the  trail; 
Not  love  of  self  and  self's  employ, 
But  the  untarnished  seraph's  joy 
In  serving  others  with  the  best 
Hand  can  achieve  or  brain  attest 
I  charge  thee  in  this  world,  above 
All  other  things, destroy  not  love! 
For  life  must  spring  firom  life,  and  soul 
Be  given  sustenance  of  soul. 
And  knowing  love  with  toil,  thine  eyes 
This  day  shall  see  lo^re's  Paradise. 

30] 


Wilt  thou  not  also  follow  me  ?" 

His  smi'o  was  like  the  Apnl  sea. 
His  presence  like  the  hills  at  dawa 
And  then  in  silence  he  was  gone. 

What  think  you — with  that  mental  twist,- 
A  madman  or  an  optimist? 
At  all  events  there  stands  to-day 
My  "Galileaa"  Say  your  say, 
But  life  took  on  a  change,  believe, 
That  memorable  Christmas  Eve. 


[3« 


THE  MIRACLE 

BREAKING  of  art,  and  how 

jwe  need 

I  To  give  our  lives  up  to  succeed 

I  Even  a  liple;  it  is  mote 
Than  that,  I  fancy.  Many  pour 
Their  lives  out  freely  and  yet  reach 
No  point  they  aim  for.  You  may  teach. 
And  they  will  learn  quickly  enough — 
Take  every  hint,  however  gruff 
Or  casual,  draw,  study,  toil 
Like  very  diggers  of  the  soil. 
Yet  never  once  achieve  that  touch 
Which  looks  so  little,  mef ns  so  much, 
And  comes  but  by  the  grace  of  God, 
When  all  is  said.  Yes,  it  is  odd. 
How  one  may  strive,  yet  miss  the  mark. 

The  incommunicable  spark! 
That  is  the  only  phrase  that  tells 
The  truth  about  the  charm  which  dwells 
In  mastery,  which  is  not  bought. 
Nor  had  by  any  taking  thought; 


31] 


A  gift,  inheritance,  or  dower, 

A  true  possession,  yet  a  power 

To  cultivate  at  will  and  use 

Or  not,  as  freely  as  we  choose. 

It  matters  not  in  having  it. 

Assured  and  adequate  and  fit. 

Whether  you're  Rafae!  or  Keats, 

Beethoven  with  his  music  sheets. 

Or  the  young  lad  who  drew  that  thing 

Behind  the  easel  there.  What  swing. 

What  quiet  sorcery  of  line. 

So  sure,  so  final,  and  so  fine. 

To  win  and  satisfy  regard  I 

It  is  so  easy — and  so  hard. 

The  Word,  as  true  as  when  it  came 

To  Moses  from  the  bush  of  flame  I 

Sometimes  the  gift  may  lie  unguessed 
For  years,  untii  a  spring  is  pressed. 
And  a  door  opens  in  the  walls 
Of  being,  and  its  master  calls. 
That's  genius.  But  how  find  the  key 
To  that  unworldly  treasury; 
How  reach  the  room  and  light  the  fire 
Which  kindles  not  at  our  desire. 


[33 


For  all  our  efTon?  I  kiww  one 
Instance,  to  show  what  ituy  be  done 
By  way  of  setting  genius  fiee 
To  prove  its  own  divinity — 
One  way  to  startle  atxl  arouse 
The  sleeping  angel  that  we  house. 

Love  laughs  at  locksmiths,  as  we  say. 
You  rtuy  be  sure  he  knows  the  way 
Into  the  garden  of  the  heart 
Where  all  the  springs  of  greatness  start — 
SoTi'ow  and  pity  and  remorse 
And  many-colored  joy.  Of  couise 
The  story  is  not  meant  for  those 
Who  spend  a  lifetime  on  the  pose 
Of  living.  You  who  paint  and  carve 
And  sing  and  dance  and  ploy — and  starve 
In  arts  great  service  every  Uiy 
Will  understand  me  when  I  say. 
Knowledge  and  skill  are  not  enough 
Ever  to  take  the  place  of  Icve: 
That  hands  and  brains  may  strive  and  die 
In  their  own  dwarfed  fatuity, 
Unless  they  learn  what  love  must  know, 
And  follow  where  it  bids  them  go. 


V»] 


Unless  the  dauntless  soul  take  port 
In  all  their  toil,  there  is  no  art, 
No  life,  no  wizardry,  no  power, 
Only  contrivance — like  a  flower 
Of  paper,  every  curve  and  hue, 
Texture  and  hair,  exact  and  true. 
But  lifeless.  Did  God  ever  lay 
Color  and  shape  upon  'he  clay. 
And  not  bestow  the  soul  as  well? 
Is  there  an  atom  or  a  cell 
Unvibrant  in  the  universe? 
Is  beauty  impotent  or  worse? 
How  came  the  substance  and  the  plan 
Into  accord  to  make  up  min  ? 
Was  there  no  energy,  no  will. 
No  joy  to  throb,  no  love  to  ilrill  ? 

You  sav  the  world  was  made  from  naught 
But  plastic  matter  and  pure  thoughL 
I  cannot  think  so.  You  supply 
The  What  and  How.  I  ask  the  Why. 
There  must  have  been  desire,  control. 
And  gladness, — attributes  of  soul. 
There  must  be  caring  where  there's  mind; 
There  must  be  both  at  once  behind 


[35 


All  beauty.  That's  the  mYstery, 
Yet  reason,  in  this  world  for  me. 
And  that  is  why  all  art  must  fail 
That  has  no  love, — all  life  grow  stale 
And  ineffectual  and  old. 
Why  hope  goes  out,  why  faith  turns  cold. 
Why  joy  expires  and  strength  is  wrecked. 
And  evil  walks  the  world  unchecked. 
Like  fools  we  cast  out  love,  then  crave 
The  happy  radiance  he  gave. 

To  put  the  heart  into  the  work. 
Is  the  one  law  we  may  not  shirk 
Nor  alter,  standing  near  to  Him 
Who  framed  the  stars  and  bade  them  swim. 
Who  set  the  music  of  the  sea 
To  sound  his  rhythm  continually. 
Whose  painting  of  the  sunrise  glows 
With  tints  of  daffodil  and  rose 
Along  the  silent  dark,  and  thrills 
The  blue-green-purple  of  the  hills, 
Whose  word  called  chaos  up  to  norm. 
And  gave  it  motion,  rhythm  and  form. 
Beauty  and  purpose  and  design. 

The  soul  in  colour  and  in  line 


36] 


Convinces  me,  who  daily  use 

Experience  of  tones  and  hues, 

(As  it  must  you  who  know  the  trick 

Of  Music  s  great  arithmetic) 

There  is  a  mind  which  lurks  below 

These  pomps  of  Nature  which  we  know, 

Nor  a  mind  merely,  but  a  heart 

Which  beats  its  loving  into  art 

I  bow  to  the  eternal  Skill, 

The  great  Artificer,  whose  will 

Sustains  the  world.  All  you  who  make 

Experiment  for  beauty's  sake. 

With  shape,  with  colour,  or  with  sound. 

Confess  if  you  have  ever  found 

The  hidden  magic  which  must  give 

Your  work  the  touch  to  make  it  live. 

In  anything  but  love  I  Ah,  there 

The  secrets  of  divine  despair 

Reside,  the  triumph  and  the  dream. 

The  fairy  call,  die  silver  gleam, 

The  joy,  the  sorrow  and  the  hope. 

The  plan,  the  splendor,  and  the  scope. 

Which  soul  must  capture  and  impart, 

To  lend  her  new<reated  art 

Its  ravishment, — and  man  may  share 

In  Gods  serene  employment  there. 

[37 


1  charge  you  in  his  name,  fling  down 
Your  paints  and  brushes,  and  disaown 
Your  Vidory,  unless  your  soul 
Has  felt  what  love  is, — as  a  coal 
Revives  and  kindles  in  the  breath 
Which  gives  it  life  instead  r*'  deatK 
Or  as  a  leaf  caught  up  and  swirled 
Before  a  wind  across  the  world. 
That  pure  great  wind  which  sweeps  away 
Sorrow,  perplexity,  dismay. 
And  leaves  its  deathless  trace  behind 
In  the  enchantment  of  the  mind. 

But  if  your  spirit  once  has  known 
A  welling  rapture  of  its  own, 
A  wildness  or  an  ecstasy 
Which  gave  it  power,  and  set  it  free. 
And  made  this  doubtfiji  life  appear 
Lovely,  beneficent,  and  clear. 
Then  only  can  you  comprehend 
The  source,  the  meaning,  and  the  trend 
Of  wonder  in  this  world  of  ours. 
And  reach  to  God  with  all  your  powers 
Through  art's  august  simplicity. 
In  the  one  way  which  still  is  three. 


38] 


If  ever  once  there  came  to  you 
The  vision  that  makes  all  things  new, 
The  glory  that  makes  all  things  good. 
Then  have  you  seen  and  understood 
How  fair  the  tnath  is.  Not  till  then 
Have  you  the  touch  to  solace  mea 

But,  for  my  itjtance:  On  our  floor 
A  German  singing-masters  door 
Was  next  to  mine,  when  studios 
Could  hardly  smother  ah's  and  oh's. 
As  they  do  now.  Besides,  in  spring 
We  used  to  let  our  transoms  swing. 
Unbent  but  grayish,  somewhat  old 
Behind  his  spedacles  of  gold. 
And  rather  worn  the  man  was  now. 
With  the  unvanquished  smile  and  brow 
Which  come  to  artists  having  wiv  s. 
Yet  loving  beauty  all  their  lives. 

Among  his  pupils  there  was  one. 
With  pretty  wavy  hair  like  spun 
Fine  yellow  gold,  who  came  to  sing — 
A  well-made,  well-kept  little  thing. 
With  her  tan  gloves  and  long  tan  coat. 
Soft  tie  and  collar  at  her  throat, 

[39 


And  music-roll  in  hand, — the  kind 
To  keep  that  poise  and  peace  of  mind 
Where  safety  and  contentment  dwell. 
It  seems  she  had  a  heart  as  well. 

She  was  his  marvel  and  despair. 
She  had  so  confident  an  air. 
Such  clear,  full,  faultless  certainty 
Of  power  and  ease,  one  wondered  why 
That  ringing  glorious  voice  of  gold. 
For  all  its  splendor,  left  one  cold; 
And  why  she  never  had  acquired 
The  shivering  rapture  he  desired. 
Talking  of  her,  he  used  to  say, 
"Ah,  veil,  perhaps  some  day — some  day  P 

Now,  Enter  Mephistopheixs, 
Brincer  of  Knowledge,  if  you  please. 

1  used  to  leave  my  door  swung  wide 
To  glimpse  her  passing,  eager-eyed. 
One  day  in  April  she  appeared. 
As  lovely  as  the  sky  just  cleared. 
And  fi-esh  as  jonquils.  One  could  tell 
By  nod  and  footstep  all  was  well 


40] 


In  her  bright  world,  with  golden  spring 
In  towa  Then  she  began  to  sing; 
Softly  at  first;  and  then  more  strong. 
Where  the  notes  vibrate  and  prolong; 
And  then,  as  if  she  had  fiargot 
All  fear,  and  earth  and  time  were  not. 
In  one  great  lyric  ecstasy 
Daring  and  passionate  and  free. 
Opening  her  throat  against  the  tune. 
Sang  like  a  thrush  in  early  June. 

I  never  heard  such  rapmre.  All 
Of  love  was  in  its  dying  fall. 
The  faith,  the  triumph,  and  the  pride. 
For  which  the  world  has  lived  and  died 
These  coundess  years;  the  joyous  fire. 
Courage,  magnificence,  desire. 
Pity,  unfathomable  grief. 
And  pain  and  sadness,  and  relief. 
All  this  enchantment  warm  and  wild. 
Out  of  the  heart  of  one  mere  child! 

I  put  my  brush  aside  and  stopped 
My  painting,  while  the  music  dropped 
Into  the  silence  word  by  word. 
As  softly  as  a  throbbing  bird 

[4' 


Drops  to  the  waiting  nest,  content 
That  all  its  rapture  should  be  spent 
I  drew  a  breath.  "At  last!"  I  cried, 
"At  last  her  Heaven  has  been  descried!" 

She  always  left  at  four;  and  so. 
When  presently  I  heard  her  go, 
I  sat  down  in  my  window  seat 
To  follow  Jonquils  down  the  street. 
As  usual.  When,  standing  there 
I  saw  a  handsome  lad,  whose  air 
Told  plainly  he  was  glad  to  wait 
For  someone.  I  considered  Fate 
Was  much  too  good  to  him.  Why  blame? 
When  I  was  young  1  did  the  same. 

And  then  I  saw  Miss  Jonquils  trip 
Across  the  way  to  him,  and  slip 
Her  gloved,  confiding,  little  hand 
Under  his  grey-tweed  arm,  and  stand 
Nestling  it  diere  a  minute,  lost 
In  plans,  no  doubt,  before  they  crossed 
The  Avenue  and  disappear^ 
They  were  my  drama.  If  I  feared 
How  it  might  end,  I  called  it  Youth, 
Or  Dreams  of  Ecstasy  and  Truth. 

41] 


No  doubt  they  had  another  name 
To  call  it  by.  Tis  all  the  same. 
I  loved  them  both.  I  turned  a-vay, 
And  there  was  no  more  work  that  day. 
Well,  who  could  work  upon  the  Feast 
Of  Ver  lal  Joy?  Not  I,  at  least. 

Leaving  my  room,  with  one  day  more 
Dropped  out  of  rime,  I  heard  the  door 
Of  the  old  teachers  studio 
Clatter;  and  he  came  out  to  go 
His  cheerless  pensive  way  uptown. 
I  offered  him,  as  we  went  down 
The  steps  together,  (he,  so  good 
And  fine  in  his  old  fortitude!) 
Congratulations  on  the  way 
His  favorite  had  sung  that  day. 
He  smiled  his  slow,sweetsmile:''MEiN  Gott, 
Dot  vas  a  miracle,  hei?  Vhat?" 
I  told  him  I  believed  so  too. 

With  reservations,  so  I  do. 


[43 


ONE  HUNDRED  AND  FIFTY  COPIES  OF  THIS  BOOK 
ON  FRENCH  HAND-MADE  PAPER  PRIVATELY 
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